


Say Yes

by wrothmothking



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 22:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15783627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrothmothking/pseuds/wrothmothking
Summary: He was packing his bag before he realized he'd made a decision.





	Say Yes

His hands trembled, clenched around the note. That night-- _that damned night_ \--he'd thought he'd ruined things once and for all, choosing his fellows over his love. Sure, they'd both've been killed for their 'transgression', but loyalty oft demanded such sacrifice. Windham had spent his life spilling blood for the Abbey, his own when he'd made some trespass, and Darion, he felt, was worth the whole of Dunwall, at the least.

The Abbey would see him hunted down, tortured, and executed--perhaps publicly--if he dared turn his back to them. But Darion, offering him forgiveness and understanding when Windham had yet to make apology, gifted him courage. Darion deserved better, deserved someone who could shower him with sweet words and gentle kisses every night, who could linger in the morning for breakfast and proper, temporary farewells unless they had no work that day, in which case they'd spend the day together, perhaps in bed, perhaps on a balcony, reading and talking and basking in the shared warmth of companionship and beloved, living, breathing bodies.

This could be the best time to run, what with the plague running rampant, a missing empress, and the recent loss of their High Overseer. The perfect time. If he was lucky, people would write him off as having been devoured by the rats or killed by the mysterious masked man, body never to be recovered. A missing overseer wasn't even note-worthy anymore.

He was packing his bag before he realized he'd made a decision.

Overseers weren't allowed much by way of personal belongings. He had a few novels; romance, horror. An orange plush cat, left side stained with whale oil, he'd found a couple years back and ended up keeping for reasons he pretended not to care enough about to consider. ( ~~Her name was Lydia.~~ ) An extra uniform, which he left on his bunk. And a set of civilian clothes, which he changed into.

The mask...He knew it was foolish, but Windham could not bear to part with it, so he put it in his bag.

Walking the streets was terribly unnerving. While he knew the patrol routes by heart, knew how to avoid the overseers, part of him kept expecting that he would run right into one when he turned the next corner. Barefaced, the sun was too sharp, too hot on the pale skin of his cheeks. The watchmen glared at him as he passed their stations, one wrong move from turning hostile. Well, physically hostile.

Darion's bed wasn't far from his own, a mercy and a curse both. It kept their sleep schedules intact for the most part, but the short trek, bereft of real danger in an very dangerous time, had made them complacent.

As he knew where the spare key was, Windham went ahead and let himself into the apartment, finding it empty. Mechanics were kept busy these days, with Sokolov's marvelous machines outfitted everywhere. So, selecting a book on wildlife from the shelf, Windham settled in to wait. While he flipped through the pages, taking in the pictures but not the words, his mind drifted.

They'd met just eight months ago, after the plague'd sunk its claws in but before everything else went so catastrophically wrong. Windham was supposed to patrol by boat, but the motor wouldn't start. Darion was the one brought in, they'd gotten to talkin', and then he'd tagged along, just in case. There had been no purpose in it, their secret, fledgling friendship or their secret, suffocated love affair, no promises made.

It suddenly dawned upon Windham, with all the force of a punch to the face, that Darion might not want to come with him, that he might not want _everything_ like Windham did. That he might come home, see Windham's bag, and wish him well on his travels, maybe thank him for letting him know he was leaving, so he wasn't left to assume Windham'd died or requested transfer to avoid him. And that would be it. Could be it. Windham wondered if he'd be able to hang onto his dignity. If he would be able to accept the rejection like any good gentleman should, and leave the city with his head held high. If he would find himself back in the compound.

Some small, foolish, traitorous part of him wanted to leave. Climb out the window, not give Darion the opportunity to turn him down. Get out, while he still had the will to.

A key turned in the lock. Too late.

"Windham?"

Their eyes met. Darion's breath gushed out as he rushed over, sitting in front of him on a stool, his arms hanging in the air near Windham's face, uncertain.

"Are you alright? Did something happen?"

"No, no," he assured, "I'm fine. How-how are you?"

"Uh, good." He seemed to relax. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but why are you here?"

"I'm done with it. All of it." Standing, he stomped off, his bag slung over his shoulder. Anxiety had him nauseous, had his fingers tugging at his fraying belt loops. Turning, he looked at Darion, looked at him long and hard and poured as much love and open, honest emotion as he could into it and said, "I'm going to Morley. I'd like it if you came with me."

"Morley?"

"The Abbey doesn't have much of a presence there. Relatively. And the people, the people hate this whole stupid system too much to turn us in."

"Yes, but it's also awfully _cold_ , there. We're going to need to snag you a good, proper coat. And a few extra blankets, I only have the two. We'll get used to it eventually, of course, but until then?"

"So you're coming?"

Darion scoffed. "Do I really have to answer that?"

"Yes."

"Then: yes, I'm coming."


End file.
